Mirror, Mirror
by Bearscoffee
Summary: Oneshot/PWP? Kankri Vantas discovers something in the kitchen when the power goes out. Is that Latula in the candlelight, or someone else?


The power went out rather unexpectedly, causing Kankri Vantas to huff irritably as his post on the inequalities involving social gender expectations vanished from his computer screen with a mechanical pop. He had stayed up an hour past his bedtime curfew to politely educate this ignorant higher-class social justice fiend who had left a rather triggering post on his blog. Kankri would not tolerate it, but it seemed all his efforts were a waste anyway thanks to the power surge. He'd have to leave a longer, thought out response to this person to make up for the lack of urgency in rebuffing.

Sighing, the young teen fumbled through his room to find the door. He'd have to go to the kitchen to fetch some candles so he could write his thoughts down by hand.

Kankri quietly made his way down to the livingroom, hand carefully sliding along the stairwell.

At the sudden crash resounding from the kitchen, Kankri's poor heart stopped. _Are we being robbed? _He thought, pulse quickening and a slow form of panic setting in. _Where's father?_

The young teen ducked behind the couch, one hand clutching the fabric of his bright red sweater while the other reached blindly for some object to defend himself with. He found one of the remote controllers that had fallen from the coffee table the night before, but sadly it was not the heavier of their electronic devices. It would hardly do him any good, yet Kankri would not go down empty-handed.

There was a loud cackling from the kitchen.

Kankri's brows furrowed in confusion. _Latula? _He thought, mind swimming uncomfortably. The younger Vantas could've sworn that was her high-pitched, ear shattering laugh. _What is she doing here? And where is father?_

"Goddamnit, where the fuck are the candles at?" Oh. There he was. Although the confirmed safety of his guardian did bring a strong sense of relief, there was still a growing tension in Kankri's chest. The adrenaline rush left him disoriented and twitchy.

_Why is Latula here? _

For some reason he didn't like the idea of his father and this specific friend of his in the same room as each other. Deep down, it may have been because Kankri would always imagine what it would look like if _he _had been standing by her side instead of any other man, this comparison made easy since his father and himself looked so similar. But they were friends and that was that. There was no interest in anything beyond friendship, Kankri being especially pleased with his asexuality and the deeper relationship he had formed with social issues and personal justice. Romanticism and sweaty fantasies of intercourse were better left appreciated in literature and from a distance; this, Kankri had decided long ago. Love, in the end, would only kill you.

"They're in the drawers by the fridge. Don't you know your own kitchen?" there was another cackle, followed by his father's signature groan. It was exasperated and held many depths of annoyance.

"Shut up, I _know _my own house. My question is why the fuck are you in it."

The Latula-sounding voice hummed. "You have excellent taste in wine. Shall we open a bottle?"

The kitchen drawers were slammed violently before a sharp striking sound was heard. Bright, buttery light spilled into the room and Kankri suddenly became aware of the mirror hanging below the drop in the stairs, reflecting the entrance of the kitchen to his wide eyes.

Apparently his father had found the cheap candles they got from Ikea, and apparently the woman in the kitchen was _not _his friend.

Kankri felt his stomach clench in both relief and fear.

While the identity of the woman still remained a mystery, her profile spoke a certain degree of danger in bright, piercing red. She made it look like sin and wore it as if an overzealous art student had etched the hue into her skin. Frankly, Kankri wasn't sure whether to take this astounding creature seriously or regard her as another one of those occultists his father tended to be strange friends with.

At least her hair looked tame enough, although it crowded her eyes. He couldn't see them from the angle of the mirror.

Kankri took a minute to over think his options, as he usually did. There was light in the kitchen now so he had the chance to either reveal himself or return to his room, quietly sneak into bed, and question his father about the strange woman upon the next morning. He also had the option to sit tight, listen, and spy on his father's interactions with the red lady. It wasn't often that Kankri's father willingly conversed with the female sex, nor used such a tone of familiarity when confronting a trespasser. Kankri was surprised he hadn't pulled out his sickles yet.

Sighing, the young Vantas found his curiosity win him over. Although he corrected himself; he wasn't spying, but rather observing the outcome of a strange confrontation between two adults without interfering. Kankri always strived to be the utmost polite and respectful individual he could be, so distancing oneself from a private conversation and waiting was the right course of action in situations like these. The young teen leaned more comfortably against the back of the couch and continued to watch through the mirror.

"You smell like shit, Karkles." The cackle was followed with the shift of harsh fabric. His father growled at the unwelcome nickname rather than the insult. Kankri could tell these small things about his brusque guardian, and questioned as to how he knew this terribly forward woman. Old college friends, perhaps? Puzzled, Kankri tilted his head to the side.

"Fuck off." His father hissed, irritated. "I'm getting rather sick of you avoiding my question, Rez. What the hell are you doing here?"

There was a clinking of glass, which chimed merrily against the marble counter. The shadow of the wine bottle stretched long and grotesquely, twisting into some unfathomable shape alongside the pantry door at the entrance of the kitchen. Kankri remembered similar things in his nightmares when he was young, and how his father would awkwardly try to reassure him in the middle of the night. His shifted uncomfortably at the resemblance.

"Can't an old friend pop in for a visit? _Hmmmmmmm_?" Her voice dropped an octave. "Maybe I just missed your sweet, sweet candy scent!"

Glass shattered once again and Kankri tensed. He saw his father raise a fist and the young teen couldn't help but question _oh dear gog he isn't going to hit her, is he?_ She didn't move, didn't flinch; the fist struck smoothly past her face and into the wall. His father planted himself firmly in front of the strange—strange but brave _dear gog_—woman who calmly met his eyes with suppressed humor.

"You _know _that isn't why you're here." He growled, teeth bared. Kankri couldn't breathe. "Now _get_ _out_."

The woman smiled, displaying numerous shiny white teeth. Somehow it made her look deadly even though the young Vantas was sure none of them were sharpened.

"You're assuming too much, as always." Tilting her head towards the marble counters, the red damsel shamelessly gestured for the fragile glasses. "Now, why don't we open this lovely bottle of _Malbec_ and talk awhile?"

Kankri found her suggestion rather reasonable; his father, however, did not.

"You did not just come here to drink and talk!"

"Yes, actually, I did."

"_No, _you did not!"

They bickered for awhile, the red damsel obviously more amused than Kankri's father. She shifted around the kitchen, pulling out things from the cupboard and smiling whenever her enraged counterpart tried to put them back. There were shards of white porcelain all over the floor.

"Rez, _stop!_ For the last fucking time, you crazy bitch!"

"What?" she replied, spinning a silver spoon delicately in the air. The candlelight made it gleam like a lost treasure, smoothly bringing it to her lips. "I'm not doing anything."

"Yes, yes you are." His father suddenly pleaded, and Kankri was startled to see the rage dissipate, transforming into a tangible misery that bled from his eyes. His breathing had picked up, disturbing the sudden silence in the room. The only things moving were his father's heavy chest and the inky shadows flickering on the yellow kitchen walls.

The red damsel stilled, somehow bringing the rest of her environment to a sudden stop as well. She tiled her head slightly, as if curious about something, before letting the spoon down onto the counter. Her posture, relaxed and humored, turned defensive.

"I didn't come here to torture you, Karkat." She murmured, and while every angle of her was sharp and screamed dangerous, there was a lilting calm in her voice that carried reassurance. Her dark hair still shadowed her eyes, but as she crossed her arms and opened her mouth to speak again Kankri managed to catch a peek of grey. "We have certain matters we must discuss. My absence has somewhat hindered that."

His father's fists clenched audibly and his breathing had yet to return to normal. He looked like he wanted to give some sarcastic and lengthy rant on everything that was wrong in the universe, but didn't have enough air in his lungs to do it. A first, in Kankri's book, and he still couldn't decide whether he should praise or fear the red woman.

Karkat ended up just nodding, begging with his eyes for her to continue.

She didn't disappoint. "I'm going to be in town longer this time around, and not to catch up with old friends. There is something I'm going to need your help with."

"It's Vriska, isn't it?"

The air became melancholy, stretching uncomfortably and tight like the red skirt on her skin. She nodded, leaning against the counter and crossing one leg over the other.

"She's being detained, illegally of course, since small towns never did read the actual books of law. It's so religious here."

At that his father growled, like an intruder was stepping on private territory. In a sense though, Kankri suspected that that was what was actually happening, given the circumstance.

"Leave them out of this. They aren't the problem."

The red woman gave a look like she disagreed, but chose to keep their conversation somewhat controlled and civil. Kankri suspected that they had had a conversation like this before, if not years ago.

"The point is this: I need a witness, and you are the only reliable one that was at the scene of the crime, although you refused to tell anyone this. You can help me win this trial."

His father scoffed, crossing his arms. "Maybe that bitch is better behind bars."

"And maybe your son is better in fostercare."

Karkat never hesitated when insulted, and Kankri found this situation to be no different. He never saw anyone verbally snap at his so quickly though, and he would almost call it wit if it wasn't so nasty. His father's fist flew and aimed for her head, fury in his eyes and teeth clenched. She didn't flinch, but managed to duck in time and spin out of the way. Furious, the brusque man grabbed one of the plates on the counter and threw it at her, barely missing and watching as one of the shards almost cut her neck. The red woman—still so composed and sharp and looking as if she was used to crossing every personal line his father had and _why was this happening_—tsked before slipping one of her hands into a drawer.

"You never could control yourself, could you?"

"_Shut up!_"

His father charged, face flushed. As he pinned her to the kitchen wall beside the table, her hand pulled out of the drawer and quickly pressed one of their sharpest cutting knives to his neck. It all happened to fast that it made the sudden stillness of the room hard to adjust to. Kankri was clutching desperately at his red sweater, barely suppressing his heavy breathing and racing heartbeat, palms sweaty and eyes wide at what the reflection in the mirror was showing him.

It seemed that one of the most dangerous things about his father was that a lot of his actions were unpredictable and wild, making him an emotional wreck later, but a deadly foe while in the midst of it. His eyes, watered with tears and anger, stared back at the woman with a depth Kankri could only barely understand. He looked betrayed and ashamed while the woman firmly held her grip on the plastic handle of the knife, defending herself with a controlled amount of skill. One flick of her wrist and it would be over, or at least worse, yet neither seemed to care or expect anything of the sort to happen.

Kankri sometimes wondered at the scars his father had.

"You…" he choked, lips quivering on a snarl as his tears flowed. "Why did you come back?"

She remained firm in her stance, ignoring the way he gripped her arms harder. The look on her face was impassive, icy, and almost cruel in how unaffected it was by the idea of harming another. Her words, however, told another story.

"It's because I need you." She said.

And it affected his father slowly, like watching ice melt in the late spring when nature and emotion and composure softly and gently crept in. Things burst and were revealed, but not unexpectedly or aimed to startle. Karkat eased the bruising grip he had on her arms, each finger carefully lifting from the red fabric of her dress coat, and her body sank back to her original weight that was now unpinned. Her back still stayed against the wall as his father hung his head.

She reacted equally as slowly all the meanwhile, matching his father's pace with eased perfection. The knife lowered, eventually dangling from her right hand as Karkat stared down. Her other hand, shadowed in the flickering candlelight, tilted his chin up to look into her face.

"I need you." She repeated, softly.

Kankri swallowed hard, biting his lip and desperately trying to wrack his brain for the stamina needed to keep up with the whirlwind of emotion in the situation. One moment they hated each other, the next they were intimate. Isn't this why they had quadrants? Where did his father stand with this woman? The red-sweatered teen tried to find the logic and mix it with the emotional inconsistency from the reflection in the mirror.

Kankri heard a gasp from his father and looked back to the scene in the kitchen. The red woman was now cradling Karkat's face, leaning in closer and whispering things he couldn't hear. His father kept repeating "_no, no, no"_ into the air desperately, crying, making Kankri's heart hurt and wanting to reach out to his guardian. While his father was emotional, it was always deep and never to be underestimated. He hated it when his father cried.

Kankri released his grip from his red sweater, hand shaking and ready to reach out and help his father, when suddenly the woman turned her face and looked straight on into the mirror.

His heart stopped.

She did not have grey eyes, but rather a burnt burgundy that covered her irises, leaving them almost blank and unexpressive. Shark's eyes, scary and deadly and _oh gog _he didn't know she was blind, had no idea how she managed to dodge his father's attack, leaving him breathless and sufficiently in need to rethink his life.

She can't see me she can't see me don't worry Kankri you haven't been found

Her smile proved otherwise, stretching almost comically wide. The attention, however, was diverted when his father lifted a hand to her face and brought it back to his. They were intimately close now, foreheads almost touching, and Kankri felt a small twinge of jealousy over the similarities between his father, the woman, and himself with Latula.

And suddenly they were kissing. Hard.

His father's hand's returned to the red dress coat, gripping desperately this time instead of violently. It was only then that her weight seemed to crumple around her, as the red woman's legs shook momentarily before she was pushing Karkat back towards the kitchen table. Their footsteps were unconscious and practically dancing in how fluid they were, reaching their destination with a thundering crash. Candlesticks, unused, rolled off and snapped on the cheap kitchen floor.

Their kiss went uninterrupted, teeth slowly added into the mix as their movements lost its grace. The red woman pulled at Karkat's hair, thick and unruly, making him groan long and low in his throat. Kankri's face flushed a deep, deep red as he promptly forgot how to breathe.

"Ah…" she laughed, pulling back from the kiss and pinning one of her partner's wrists to the hard wood of the table. He struggled, reaching his other hand out quickly before it was captured, securing it to the sharp dip in her waist. Anger had resurfaced in his grey eyes, catching in the candlelight.

"Don't you fucking stop." He growled.

The red woman's eyes were half-lidded, blank and dangerous as she used her other hand to carefully brush a lock of dark hair from Karkat's visage, leaning in close as she whispered something Kankri could not hear.

He wanted to close his eyes. More than anything Kankri wanted to pretend that he didn't see this, that instead of deciding to spy on his father that he had just went back upstairs and into bed.

He was biting her neck.

She gasped and writhed, pulling herself further onto the table and smoothly straddling his father's lap as he sucked harder. It was messy and loud, saliva and blood dribbling from the corners of his mouth as she groaned and whispered into his ear. Encouraged, Karkat tugged at her skirt. It resisted, tight and ridiculously restrictive, yet in a frenzy his father managed to rip a long, sharp seam that dragged up her leg. It split perfectly, stopping at her hip and allowing Karkat to dip his hand into flushed skin.

The red woman nudged her head lightly against his father's face, bringing his lips back to hers, her one free hand swiftly undoing the buttons of her blouse. Last Kankri recalled, her coat had been discarded long ago.

"Never—" gasping, searching for breath as she dived under again "—any patience—" his grip tightened, sliding over smooth thighs before dipping in between "—_ah!_"

He tried flipping them over, but only succeeded in bucking his hips. They both started at the contact, her lips parting with messy lipstick as Karkat bit his 'til it bled. When she noticed, her eyes widened a fraction.

"Red," she whispered. "Let me _taste_—"

Kankri had to close his eyes, tears pricking at the corners and hands shaking around his head. He couldn't look back at the mirror, couldn't stand the sight ravishing itself before him. The pure imagery was too much, since it was no longer a fantasy, a mere thought, but had rather become an experience to the young and desperate teenage boy. Every attempt at pulling indifference, an excuse, some sort of moral boundary; shattered upon the sounds emanating from the kitchen, halloed in a buttery light while backdropped in sinful shadow. He wanted to scream. Shame, shame, shame bit the young Vantas like a poised viper, the disgust poisoning him and spreading to the tightness in his pants.

_They looked so similar_

She cried out like how he had imagined Latula would, stretched and lithe with dexterity, capable of twisting into dangerous poses that would rip his heart and lungs at the seams. Her hair, the smell slowly wafting its way into the walls of the house—his father was voicing every emotion he had buried inside him, the anger and fear and above all the _adoration _for the woman above him was too much. Kankri barely choked back a sob, shaking and delirious with fever and long smothered desire.

He kept telling himself that it was wrong, even as the table banged against the wall, his father managing a gruff laugh as she whined. He could hear her take control again, his father's wrists pinned as flesh met hard wood with a crack, her cotton shirt snapping before fluttering to the floor. A slick sound came from between their lips. They were kissing, biting, ravishing. He could hear how wet she was as they continued to grind, the lace in between her thighs most likely drenched in the fit of fever. She reached down for his belt after Karkat began begging in desperate whispers, choking on certain words Kankri could not understand yet she knew without even trying. There was a click, and her hands loosened on his wrists, relinquishing control for but a moment.

It was somewhat of a mistake as he launched forward, almost clumsily bumping his head into hers, but catching himself and pushing her hands away. He muttered something, making her give a breathless laugh, before another clicking sound was heard and a zipper undone.

Kankri buried his face into his knees, the red fabric of his sweater pushed against his ears in hopes to drown out all the sound. Yet the emotion, the _feeling _of what was happening in the other room still affected him. He was shaking, imagining what was next.

His father pulled her back into a needy kiss, and she would try to regain some control of an already hopeless situation. She would set a rhythm, not needing to guide his hands but the time in which he moved them, since Karkat already knew her all too well. His fingers would slip between her thighs, face buried in her neck and sucking hard as he pushed inside, feeling her tense and shudder and pull at his hair. She gave out these desperate little gasps, lips shaking and tongue licking at the air as if she wanted to taste all of what they were doing to each other.

Every action that he gave she returned equally. She was fair, in more ways than one, and her hands mirrored Karkat's as she reached down.

The sounds he made were indescribable, which didn't stop her in the least, although it left her feeling a bit smug.

"_Fuckk…_" he moaned, bruising her thighs and managing to damage her skirt further. Pulling her closer, feeling her heartbeat, not daring to close his eyes all the way in case it all turned out to be a dream; she bit his ear and said horrible things that made him want to cry in all the good ways. Her nails ripped slowly down his back, painting the broken canvas of his skin with her favorite color and telling him over and over again that _"you are mine" _was not a broken promise.

He hated her. Hated how she did this without thinking or hesitation. Hated how she didn't get swept away as much as he did.

She didn't push forward, so Karkat decided to take action. His fingers slipped out all the way, leaving her irritated and shaking, before rolling them to the side and slamming her against the table. Her eyes widened momentarily until narrowing back into a look of challenge, warm puffs of air clouding his face.

Kankri couldn't block out the sounds of the table slamming against the wall again. He managed a quick sob before sucking in needed air, although wet from his tears.

She was sprawled but not helpless, and he ripped the thin lace blocking his objective in his haste. Murmuring something soft, she pulled him back to her with a delicious swipe of her tongue, trying to get back into control. He didn't ignore it, but tried not to succumb, all the while pushing up against her, the both of them bare.

There was no resistance, and she was so wet and willing that he couldn't _breathe. _

Kankri knew, somehow was able to sense that everything had changed and that this went beyond just simple desire anymore. He was stuck between suppressing his wants and fantasies and finding reality, but it was so fucking hard when those two were currently mixed in the most twisted fashion.

He couldn't take it anymore. His body wasn't immobile. It shouldn't have been, yet terror was a fascinating thing sometimes. Kankri lifted his hands and was immediately shocked by the clarity it brought, along with the sounds and the horrible reflection in the mirror. Her legs were long like Latula's, and they wrapped tightly around his father's waist. The heels on her feet were sharp and red, like her eyes.

Kankri pulled himself away from the mirror and shakily crawled across the rough carpet of his livingroom. The stairs were within reach, but not before he heard the peak of his father's undoing. It could have been himself, he realized, and the Latula-sounding voice gasped things he wouldn't have to imagine anymore.

The sick, heavy thought sunk into his pounding head as the kitchen table finally stopped moving. Kankri, still crying, silently crawled up the stairs to his bedroom.

But it was not before he heard the three deadly words, the most cruel of them all, ones he wished for and never _ever _expected to receive:

_I love you_

_I love you I love you I love you_

Rambled and desperate and clogging the air surrounding the teen. He closed his door finally, still crawling on the floor, but was left to look at his clean and lonely room, left stale in his absence. Kankri put his head in his hands, sobbing and choking on everything he had left in him, ignoring the bulge in his pants and the remaining shreds of his composure.

The power came back on with a stuttering pop, shocking the room with the returned light from the computer. Kankri didn't move or acknowledge the change in his surroundings, too focused on the slick and heavy emotions running through him. Eventually, he fell asleep on the hardwood of his floor, eyes dry and sweater covered with snot.

Downstairs a candle was blown out, and phone numbers were exchanged while the sun rised.


End file.
